Missing Uncle Sam

“Christmas is a time of joy,” my boss said yesterday. “I have to keep reminding myself of that.”

It is. A joy tinged with sorrow, as the Man of Sorrows left his throne and came to be born in a manger, knowing he would be the sacrifice that redeemed the world. But a joy nonetheless, because the end result of that sacrifice was resurrection – not just once, but for all who believe.

I’m holding onto the hope of resurrection right now. Holding on to the hope that the Day-spring will put death’s dark shadows to flight. Because they are dark. And they are present. And I ache in the missing him.

“I’m okay,” I keep hearing myself say. “At the moment.”

On the one hand, day-to-day, I didn’t see Uncle Sam much – certainly not compared to his students or his fellow professors of music. But sporadic lunches, quick conversations in hallways or offices, greetings at concerts and events were enough to keep that long-seated friendship fresh, one that had grown from years upon years of relationship with my grandparents, my parents, my sisters, his brothers, his nephews, our shared friends. And now I am left with them all, aching.

He was a musician. I know that. But it’s not like that stood out to me in a unique way – saying Sam Hsu was a musician would be like saying any other person had eyes. It’s a given. His music was so much a part of him that I sometimes didn’t even take note of it.

I know that must seem strange to those who knew him from the world of music. But that wasn’t the world where we overlapped so much. We met more frequently over meals, at family celebrations, or academic discussions. He was my friend, my “uncle”; and my friend came with music in his blood.

He was a friend I was privileged to sit under as a student, enjoying the breadth and depth his knowledge gave to a class that could have been routine. And in between the insights into the music, art, and literature of the western world, were tidbits of great beauty and depth that would flow from him: “He’s experienced a little of me and I’ve experienced a little of him. That’s what friendship is, isn’t it?”

He was a friend who may have been thought somber by those who did not know him well. But they never got to experience the moments of humor that would come from around side – hilariously unexpected. I’ll never forget the day he sat at the keyboard to introduce us to a Russian Romantic composer and paused with his fingers hovering above the keys: “I’m going to show you how the Russians loved,” he said. Then he lowered his hands to the first chord; it struck and faded as he paused again: “I’m not a Russian. I hope you know that.”

I stood at the hospital on Thursday afternoon, looking about me at Uncle Sam’s students who were there, and thinking of those, former and present, who were not. Men and women of God whose passion for music is fueled by their passion for Christ. And I thought: that is what they learned from their teacher. More than fingering, more than history, more than style. They learned Christ-following from one who was, preeminently, a Christ-follower.

I have allowed my mind to swim freely in the lyrics and music of hymns and carols for the past few days, knowing that it is a place he would have loved to be with me. And the joy of Christmas, the beauty of this world, the grandeur and faithfulness of God, the great truths – all of them have resounded over and over to me.

3 thoughts on “Missing Uncle Sam”

Excellent meditation. When God calls any one of our loved ones home, it’s often said that we must continue on as they would have seen fit. And I think it’s quite fitting that we celebrate this joyous holiday with much music and celebration, and how he’ll continue to live on in all of our music, our texts, and our art.

So well said, Carrie. I didn’t know Dr.Hsu, not being in the Music major, but I remember him walking through the halls at PCB and his quiet unassuming spirit.I wish I had been ‘into’ classical music back then. I have a feeling I missed some things then.But I just enjoyed the Chopin concert at 10th Pres and had my own little worship service to Thank God for his life and all the people that he touched with it, all the while helping them to learn a little more of Christ. Hugs to you in your hurting. jo

My grandma, Bernice Givens, posted this on my dad’s Facebook yesterday. I had forgotten this gathering until she reminded me. “We remember him with joy, especially arround the piano after Jessie and Brian’s wedding. He was gifted greatly, yet humble enough to join in the singing while I played, that is until a song was requested which I couldn’t play and I asked him to take over. It was a special time ! I wish I had more opportunity to get to know your friends. It is a comfort to me to know you and Elizabeth have so many!”